Year of the Cat
by graphitewarrior
Summary: Vincent Valentine and three cats in his life. 3-part Vincent character study with a side of Reeve x Vincent.
1. Chapter 1

The Valentines never had a pet when their son was growing up. It was only when Vincent was an older teen that they finally adopted one—his mother's request. Eleanor grew lonely at home when Vincent was at school and her husband was working, and she wanted a companion during the daytime. A four-year-old black cat, christened "Midnight" by Vincent, was her choice. "Middie" was the cat's nickname. She was supposed to be Eleanor's cat, but she really ended up being Vincent's. In the morning when Vincent was packing lunch, Middie rubbed up against his legs with a rumbling purr. In the afternoon when he came back from school and set his backpack on the bed, she, already lying there, greeted him with a loud meow. And at nighttime when he was studying or reading, she sat peacefully in his lap until he fell asleep.

Vincent's father had worried at first. Vincent had had weak lungs growing up, and he suspected Vincent might be allergic to cats. He'd encouraged Eleanor not to get a pet and said he would try to take less hours instead. That wasn't possible; Shinra's assignments weren't flexible, and he could be in town or in parts unknown for days at a time with little to no contact. He had never had this problem when he was still at work on his dissertation since, having found, rented, borrowed, or otherwise procured everything he needed for his research, he was at home most of the time, and Vincent remembered him sitting at his typewriter for hours on end talking to himself in a language that seemed otherworldly.

Vincent wasn't allergic. He loved Middie's attention, and especially because his father seemed even more otherworldly whenever he came home. His father used to be down-to-earth, literally—Vincent missed the days of hunting in the mountains together, always knowing Mom would have a mug of hot cider waiting back at their cabin. The warmth of the drink would spread from his head to his toes, and he forgot the chill of the frigid river in which they had washed their bloody hands after butchering their dinner.

Middie helped alleviate some of the stress of high school. If Vincent was on the verge of a panic attack, he buried his face in her fur. She was an unquestioning support, and a durable tissue for any tears. In college, he looked forward to seeing her on break as much as to seeing his parents. Incense burning, macramé hanging on the walls, chimes clinking in the breeze, Dad falling asleep in his chair while reading, Mom humming as she mixed cake batter—all these things were home to him, but it wasn't truly home without Middie curled up at his feet.

During Vincent's senior year of college, Eleanor became very ill. Vincent, terrified of the worst-case scenario, wondered how she kept smiling. She had always been someone who could "go with the flow," roll with the changes. When he was on break, she acted as if nothing had changed, doing everything they used to do together—singing along to the radio in the car, watching game shows, playing with Middie. Vincent never brought it up, but he knew that she, deep down, was just as scared as he was.

Grimoire was not back at the apartment as often as he or Eleanor wanted. In a letter to Vincent, he said he was currently studying the Planet's defense mechanisms. Vincent knew something of this; like everyone else, he'd learned in school that the Planet created Weapons to defend itself if it was in danger, but he didn't know it on the level that his father did. Vincent continued writing letters during his last semester, but with few responses, even as his mother's condition worsened. After he graduated, picked up a paid internship at Shinra, and moved out, Eleanor passed away, and Vincent saw his father for the first time in five months.

"Will you take care of Middie?" Grimoire asked after Eleanor's funeral service. His and his son's eyes were both red; the left side of Vincent's head was pounding, black strings and splotches showing up in his vision. He felt dizzy from crying.

"Of course I will." What other answer was he supposed to give? He would never turn Middie down, even if she was getting a little old. She was a part of the family. And she had always really been his cat.

"Thank you." Silence passed between them for a moment. Nobody was coming up to them and offering vapid sympathies; nobody interrupted their conversation. "I'm sorry I haven't been around. I thought maybe you wanted to go up to the cabin this weekend. We both have paid time off."

"I'm sorry, Dad." Vincent lifted his head, seeing how the room had begun to spin. "I would like to, but I don't think I'm well right now."

After coming by and picking up the litterbox, food, and Middie, he passed out immediately after setting her down on the tile floor, hands and forearms breaking his fall. When he resurfaced a second later, the vertigo was intense, the room splitting into various blurred images before his eyes. He had been doing well, hadn't had any migraines in weeks. "Middie kitty," he called weakly. He knew she would come. "Middie."

He felt her fur against his face and he reached his arm up to pet her. Just then, he caught a whiff of patchouli, but when he held Middie to his face and sniffed, he didn't smell it. He'd never felt anyone's presence from beyond before. He wouldn't say he believed in ghosts. But Mom had always worn a perfume that had patchouli in it. And it was exactly her perfume that he had smelled.

At noon on the second day of his migraine, he was lying in bed with Middie stretched out across his shins, wondering how long it was going to last, when the phone rang. Without opening his eyes—even with the blackout curtains, the light was too strong—he picked it up and said, "Hello?"

"Hi, Vincent, it's Dad. Your supervisor just called me asking about you. He said you didn't pick up this morning. Are you still sick?"

"Yeah, but I'm off." Vincent laid his arm across his forehead. "Will you come over?"

There was a moment of silence before he said, "I'm coming right over. See you then."

Grimoire had a key to Vincent's apartment, so Vincent didn't have to get out of bed to let him in. He took care opening the bedroom door—it needed oiling badly, and the noise would grate on Vincent's senses—and pulled up the chair from Vincent's desk. Vincent's left hand was lying palm up over the side of the bed, and his father set his palm against Vincent's. "How's it going?"

"I want Mom back."

"I know." He patted Vincent's hand. "How's your head?"

"Shitty."

"Well, you just let me know if there's anything you need."

"I need a vacation."

Grimoire's hand left its place, and Vincent heard an indignant meow, then felt Middie's fur under his chin. "How about a cat?"

Vincent laughed as best he could. "A cat would help."

Two years passed and Middie grew older just as Vincent and Grimoire did. Her eyes began glazing over with age, and Vincent could see little stars in them when he held her up to his face. She sometimes had accidents before making it to the litterbox, and it was sad to think he might lose her soon. He still thought about his mother nearly every day. It wasn't that he cried or agonized over her being gone, more that there was a hole in his life, a palpable absence. She had been cut out.

He couldn't help feeling that he should have heard from his father that week. He'd taken Middie to the vet and gotten her checked out, and she had a tumor that would have to be examined as soon as possible. Shinra's insurance—they had exceptional benefits, especially since Vincent's promotion—covered the visit, but he was worried about the cost of surgery if it were needed. He'd called his father—no response, even after Vincent left a message on the answering machines (Shinra had the newest technology). Then Vincent was given an envelope and the rest of the day off at work that day. He waited until he was home to open it.

"No," he said. "No, no, no, no." He said it over and over, though he knew it was true. His vision blurred, tears blotting ink. Dropping the letter, he sank to the floor and sobbed until his chest hurt. Not just his mother, but his father, had returned to the Planet, had been taken away from him.

Middie was an old cat, but she hadn't completely lost her senses, and hearing her person in distress drew her attention immediately. She brushed up against Vincent where he lay with his face against the cool tile, his tears forming a small puddle at his cheek. He cried even harder and drew her tightly to his chest, squeezing her so hard that she squirmed to try to escape. He let her go and she scampered out of his arms, her claws scrabbling on the tile. "Thank you," he said as he watched her leave the kitchen. "I love you, Middie kitty."


	2. Chapter 2

Time had marched on while Vincent Valentine had lain asleep atoning for his greatest sin, and although he was 57 now, slightly older than the age his father had been at death, what had happened in Nibelheim seemed like yesterday. Had it really been thirty years since he had been pronounced dead? Standing up against Hojo had felt so natural at the time. Everything he had loved had died or been taken away from him—Mom, Dad, Middie—and he wasn't about to let the scientist take advantage of the woman he loved. Well, _he_ loved her, but it was questionable if Lucrecia had ever felt the same way. He could never accuse her of leading him on, or of doing anything wrong. He was always the one to blame; he never should have let his feelings influence his actions like that.

Vincent had known. Lucrecia had hidden her pain, but he was always observing her—it was his job, and something he was good at—and he noticed how she always sat at the desk with one hand below her stomach. When she thought no one was listening or watching, she set her head on the desk, crying. That much pain during pregnancy wasn't normal, not to mention all the Mako to which she was being exposed. He spoke up. He didn't want her to die. She had ended up living as far as he knew, but he should have stayed dead.

In the state he was in now, he might as well be dead. His face and figure were gaunt. Though he'd always been thin, he didn't remember ever having been able to see his ribs in the mirror. His body was like a skeleton with skin stretched over it. A corpse, held together by haphazard stitching that had healed over the years, the biggest scar bisecting his torso and going through the healed gunshot wound. Not to mention his missing left arm, which he didn't even know was gone until he tried taking the metal claw off. It was a moment of pure horror, and enough to trigger a full-blown panic attack, the first he'd had since waking up. Who was he now?

His parents, extended family, friends, teachers, Lucrecia—they'd generally described him as very shy and introverted, anxious, but kind and intelligent. Someone who always listened and paid attention—well, when his nose wasn't in a book, or when he wasn't working on his marksmanship. He was hard to get close to, but he cared a lot about those who were close to him. And those close to him were thirty years gone, and if Lucrecia were still around, she probably wouldn't want to see him anyway. There was no way she'd want to see him. He had ruined her life.

But after joining Cloud's band of misfits, keeping his distance from the others proved difficult. They all tried approaching him in their own ways, clearly wanting him to open up and participate in discussions of some kind. Small talk, mostly inconsequential. But they wanted him there, and wasn't it enough that they cared? He was sure that was what they were thinking, like they were heroes for including the depressed guy. He knew as soon as they sat down in one big group, he'd be ignored again. He began to miss Middie's company. She never asked him any invasive or pointless questions. She just cuddled up to him and purred in satisfaction.

There was a cat in the group, the animatronic Cait Sith. Though he'd revealed that he wasn't a "real" cat and that he was a Shinra spy, his black and white fur reminded Vincent of how soft Middie had been. Shinra had always had the latest technology. He'd never seen a robot as lifelike as Cait Sith. But Vincent felt awkward asking Cait Sith if he could pet him, though he attributed it mostly to his shyness rather than the possibility that the nameless Shinra employee might be offended.

Even as he pushed himself away and isolated, he made the effort to approach Cait Sith one evening while the robot was powered off for the night. They were staying in the inn, four to a room. Barret and Cid were heavy sleepers, and there was no danger of waking them up. Vincent snuck out of bed and approached the robot where he sat on top of Mog. He took off his glove, reached forward, and gently touched Cait Sith's fur. He was surprised at the softness, which recalled memories of a real cat, of Middie. Nostalgia and sentimentality getting the better of him, he carefully picked up the robot and cradled him in his arms. It wasn't something Middie would have let him do, but Cait Sith was smaller than she had been, and he was an appropriate size to be held.

The voice shocked him out of his reminiscence before the movement did. He drew in his breath sharply and nearly dropped Cait Sith. "Hey, what's the big idea? If you wanted to pet me, you should've asked first!"

"Keep your voice down," Vincent whispered. He didn't want to risk waking Barret and Cid up, though it was hard to hear anything with the way they were snoring.

"You like cats, huh?"

Vincent was spacing out and didn't respond until he heard "Vincent." He was surprised whoever was operating the robot remembered his name. "Yeah, I used to have one when I was younger."

"I always wanted a cat at home." It's a different voice now, a deeper voice than he expected from the operator of the robot. More formal than the looser speech of Cait Sith. "But I had allergies when I was a kid. And I've just never had the time to own one myself."

"So you made a robot instead?"

"As a substitute for a cat, yes. But I soon found that he became very useful. For that I cannot apologize enough."

Vincent ignored him and petted Cait Sith. "It's a very lifelike cat."

"Thanks." The voice had switched back to Cait Sith's, although he could now distinguish the timbre of the employee's voice underneath it. "I take pride in the softness of my fur."

"My cat used to be like my security blanket. She used to comfort me whenever I was feeling down."

"Oh, really?"

Vincent realized what he had said. "Not that I'm feeling bad right now or anything. I'm fine, in fact. I was just missing her." He set Cait Sith back on top of Mog and stood up. "Sorry to bother you."

Over the next few weeks he spent with the group, Vincent noticed how Nanaki would let everyone pet him, even just a pat on the head. Seeing how open everyone was about physical contact with Nanaki, Vincent took to petting Cait Sith, scratching him behind his ears, patting him on the head. The others, seemingly never having thought of it, started petting Cait Sith, too. He was a cat that didn't purr.

Vincent had been hurting a lot lately, though he forced his emotions below the surface. All his loved ones were on his mind, and the pressure and guilt building up had left him teetering on the edge of a panic attack for weeks. He was just thinking how fortunate it was that he hadn't yet had a migraine since waking up when black dots and blips began to appear in his vision while he was walking behind the rest. He'd jinxed himself. In his state, he'd probably have both a migraine and a breakdown.

"I'm sorry, everyone," he said. "We're going to have to stop for now."

Cloud turned around. "Why? What's the matter?"

"I need to stop."

"Can you tell us what's wrong?" Tifa asked. Everyone had turned around and was looking at him.

"I don't feel good."

"What do you mean?" Cloud asked. "Are you gonna be sick?"

Vincent felt a sharp pain in the right side of his head, and he winced. "I'm going to have to lay down. I need to be inside."

"Just tell us what's wrong and then we can help you," Tifa said.

"Yeah, it ain't gonna do us no good if you don't say something," Barret said.

Cloud waved his hand. "Oh, we'll make a stop anyway. But we're pretty far from any town. Do you absolutely need to be inside?"

Vincent shrugged. "I guess not."

They stopped in a glade of trees and hovered over Vincent at first. "Do you need anything?" "Can we help you somehow?" "Are you hungry or thirsty?"

"I need silence," Vincent groaned, pressing his metal arm to his forehead. The brass was hot against his forehead, but still cooler than his skin. He lay there with his eyes closed until he felt soft fur brushing up against his cheek. He lifted up his right arm and felt Cait Sith's fur.

"Do you need a kitty?" Cait Sith asked. Then, more quietly, the robot's operator: "Are you going to be okay?"

His soft voice made Vincent's heart skip. He had no idea who the man behind Cait Sith was, but his sympathy had already been elicited by the man's revelation that he wasn't able to have a cat as a child. Vincent had listened to his story, and he gave back by letting Vincent have a cat again. Especially during a migraine, when he used to need Middie's comfort the most. Vincent picked up Cait Sith, held him to his chest, and said, "Don't worry about it."


	3. Chapter 3

Vincent and Cait Sith's operator conversed briefly at different points during Meteorfall, but they didn't get to really know each other until it was all over. The operator turned out to be a Shinra executive, specifically the Head of Urban Development, Reeve Tuesti. Though Cloud and the rest should have held grudges toward Shinra—nearly all of them were affected by Shinra in some way—everyone accepted Reeve with open arms. He had been helping them, after all, and Cait Sith was as much a part of the group as anyone else.

Vincent first met Reeve in person at the post-victory party at the new Seventh Heaven, half a year after Meteor had been destroyed. He was a tall man, smartly dressed, with a beard and hair parted in the middle that curled a little at the ends. His dark brown eyes were warm, and his voice was deep and calm. He offered his hand and a welcoming smile to everyone he met. Overjoyed to see Vincent in person, he discussed his newest project, the World Regenesis Organization, that aimed to help the recovering Planet. In between sips of gin and tonic, Vincent watched him talk animatedly. His enthusiasm was contagious. He almost made Vincent smile a few times.

"How about we meet sometime for drinks" became a frequent request of Reeve's. Vincent never said much himself, just listened; watching Reeve talk was entertainment enough. He pretended like he didn't want any part in anything Reeve asked him to do. But when the Planet was in danger again, Vincent was right behind the WRO, fighting his own literal and mental demons at the same time he was fighting Shinra's demons. It was a long way back home from Lucrecia's cave after Omega and Chaos had returned to the Planet, and Vincent was thinking not of her, but of everyone waiting at home for him, and especially Reeve. The conflict had brought them even closer, working side by side to stop Deepground.

When Vincent made it back to Edge, he went to Seventh Heaven right away, where he knew everyone would be waiting. He got pats on the shoulder, hugs, and a scolding (that was from Yuffie). Looking around the room in confusion, he didn't have to pose the question that was on his mind—Tifa answered. "The last one's out back. In the garden." Vincent nodded, said "thank you," and walked out the back door. He was sitting at the table, staring straight ahead, his chin in his hand, a mug of tea set before him that was probably growing cold. Vincent cleared his throat. Reeve turned his head.

"Vincent!" Reeve stood up. "Hi! Welcome back!" His eyes brightened, and he was stumbling over his words. "I was so worried— _we_ were all so worried about you! I thought you might have… you know, after stopping Omega—"

"I'm just fine," Vincent said. "I'm glad to be back."

"And I'm so happy you're back. Oh, Vincent, I was losing sleep worrying over you. I'm just so—"

"Hey," Vincent said, noticing tears beading up in Reeve's eyes. "It's all over. We can relax now."

They relaxed by going out for drinks, just like old times, that evening. Reeve announced his plan to settle in an apartment rather than the headquarters. A small place in Edge, still close to anyone who might need his help, with a room he could set aside to work on his Cait Siths. He planned to turn them into therapy animals for the children's hospital division of the WRO.

"Are you going to adopt a cat?" Vincent asked.

"Why do you ask that?"

"You said that was the reason you made Cait Sith in the first place. You weren't able to have a cat as a kid."

Reeve's eyes lit up in recognition. "Wow. How'd you remember? I can't remember telling you that. Must have been a while ago. But anyway"—he rubbed his beard for a moment before he responded—"I'm thinking about it, assuming I'm not allergic anymore. It would be nice to have some company at home."

"It would be nice," Vincent echoed without thinking.

"You just gave me a great idea," Reeve said, smiling widely. "I'll have you over at my place after I'm done moving in. It'll be a little housewarming party, just us two. And if I get the cat, I'll let you know."

"Just us two?"

"Of course." Reeve put his hand on Vincent's shoulder. "I can't invite the entire WRO."

In the days after that meeting, Vincent read the realty section, looking at the open apartments and their amenities and rent costs. Tifa assured him there was no hurry, and he knew she would never kick him out. She said he was a guest and he didn't need to pay any rent. But as days turned into weeks, he felt worse about staying there, and he checked his phone daily, wondering if Reeve was too busy moving or too busy hunting to call or text back.

"Have you heard anything about Reeve?" he asked at breakfast after three weeks had passed.

"He's got WRO business, doesn't he?" Cloud said, his mouth full of cereal.

"Yeah," Tifa confirmed. "He's moving into his new apartment as well. Oops," she said, holding a hand in front of her mouth.

"What?" Vincent said.

"I wasn't supposed to tell you that. He wanted it to be a surprise."

Vincent was left to wonder for the next three days why it was supposed to be a surprise until he finally got a call from Reeve to meet him at the train station in West Edge. They rode the train down to an apartment complex where they walked up the stairs and into Reeve's home.

"Welcome home, Vincent," Reeve said. "Your bedroom's the second room on the right."

Vincent's breath hitched. "My… bedroom?"

Reeve smiled. "Well, you need a place to stay, don't you? I looked for a two-bedroom apartment specifically for that reason. I figured you wouldn't have a problem sharing with me. And look who's here." He bent down as a tan, fluffy cat approached them. "This is Dusty."

Under other circumstances, Vincent might have made a snide comment about Reeve's choice in names. But he hadn't seen or petted a real cat in years. He knelt right down to scratch Dusty between the ears. After sniffing Vincent's hand in suspicion, it warmed up to him instantly, purring as he stroked its head and neck. He leaned his head forward and it nuzzled its head into his face. His eyes began to water, and he gently wrapped his arm around Dusty, running his fingers through its fur.

"October 13, right?"

Reeve's voice shocked Vincent and he pinched Dusty's fur in his hand. The cat backed away, watching the two from a distance. "What about October 13?"

"Your birthday. I asked Cloud. He's the one who has everyone's birthdays written down."

"Yes. It's in two days." Vincent looked up at Reeve.

"Well," Reeve gestured to the apartment and to the cat, "your present came early. Do you like it?"

Vincent's face was growing warm. "I can't accept this. You're… This is too much. How can you give so much?"

"Because you've given me so much." Vincent stood up to meet Reeve's eyes. "All the times we've spent together. Your help when I needed it. Your trust, and I hope you'll also give me something else." He looked at his feet, then back up at Vincent. "Your love."

"I…" Vincent stuttered. He held his hand to his heart. "What…"

Reeve swallowed. "I suppose that was a little forward of—"

"No. No, it wasn't." Vincent shook his head. "I had no idea. If I would have known, I would've said something sooner."

"You mean—"

"Yes."

"Well, then." Reeve, beaming from ear to ear, didn't even try to hide the redness of his face. "This worked out even better than I thought it might."

"Did you think I was going to turn you down?"

"I mean, there's always a little bit of fear when you tell someone how you feel, isn't there?"

Vincent closed his eyes briefly. "Yes. There is."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"It's all right. Things are different now." He stooped down to pet Dusty as it rubbed against his knees. "Back then, I didn't have anything. I lost my cat, my parents, the woman I loved. But now"—he got to his feet and put his right hand on Reeve's shoulder—"I have a cat. I have a home. And I have the man I love."

"And maybe that's all one really needs." Reeve held out his arms, and Vincent allowed himself to be drawn into his embrace.


End file.
